Dear Stan
by Tie-dyed Trickster
Summary: In one universe, a bag of toffee peanuts leads to a family splintering. In another universe, it causes a rather different outcome…
1. Chapter 1

In the years to come, the twins tell the story together, and they tell it like this:

"Yeah, so, I'm staring at the machine, right?" Stanley says, leaning back in his chair, casual and easy, like he hasn't just confessed to accidentally breaking a machine his brother had spent months constructing and which was the ticket to his dreams, "And it ain't moving no more, which is a problem since the thing's not supposed to _stop_ moving, and a panel's come off the side. So I manage to get the panel back on, the machine starts moving again, boom, problem solved! I put the sheet that's supposed to cover the whole thing back on so Sixer can whip it off all dramatic-like for the WCT guys – that was my idea, you know, people always like a good build-up, and then I high-tail it before I can cause any more problems.

"Except as I'm going, I slip on this snack bag I musta dropped earlier and fall flat on my face. And when I look up again the sheet's slipped off and the machine ain't moving again, which is when I _really_ start to panic and go to find Sixer."

"And you fixed it?" one listener asks, leaning forward, waiting for the triumph that must be coming.

Stanford laughs at this, shooting his brother a rueful look before he picks up the story. "Good heavens, no! Well, not for lack of trying, mind you. Apparently some of the paperclips I'd used hadn't been properly strength-tested and, well, you know how it is – substandard materials, substandard product. I'd done the best with what resources I had available, but the insides were a mess when I took a look. Even I hadn't realized how delicate it was. I had the thing half open and an eighth in pieces by the time the college scouts came through. I must have looked a sight after staying up all night rewiring it."

"What did the judges do? Did they leave on the spot?" the other listener fidgets, nervous, wary of what might happen.

"They tried to," Stanford admits, eliciting a gasp, "Unfortunately for them, that was the instant Stanley came barreling back from his latest supply run-"

"Yeah, spent the whole night tearing around town finding stuff and twisting wires and crap. You know how much talking it takes ta get a guy to sell ya hardware at four in the morning?"

"-yes, you suffered greatly, don't interrupt." There is a moment where the story devolves into the two shoving each other for a few moments in a manner that feels the interruption and shoving are as much a part of the story as the rest of it before Stanford continues, "Anyway, Lee comes crashing through the room, bellowing about coat hangers and duct tape and he crashed headlong into the people from West Coast Tech. As it happened, though, one of them landed at eye level with my project and ended up getting an extremely good look at its internal components, and asked me a question.

"They weren't thrilled the machine was in pieces, of course, but they were impressed to see what I'd accomplished with such rudimentary materials – and of course the math behind it was in perfect working order…"

And thus Stanford had been offered a scholarship at West Coast Tech which he had gladly accepted, and life had been perfect.

Well, for a week or so, life had been perfect. Then there had been the fight, the explosion, more accurately, and the listeners huddle closer together as they hear about it, the concept of such anger dividing two such close siblings like this a foreign, uncomfortable presence in their world. A verbal battle over who was being abandoned, who was being smothered, and two weeks of enraged silence that broke only when Stanford had learned Stanley wasn't making any plans for his future past high school anymore, not even regarding the Stan o' War. He'd never expected his brother to follow him into college, of course – not with Stanley's grades – but… surely he could go to a technical school or somewhere similar and learn a trade, something to fall back on between his adventures or when he was running low on funds.

Which was how he'd found out that Stanley had also heard that fateful conversation in the principal's office, about West Coast Tech… and taffy-scraping. He hadn't known Stanley had heard that, let alone taken it to heart. It had been an unpleasant moment, realizing that he'd been so intent on his own escape that he hadn't paused to consider how Stanley would make his, or thought to wonder why his twin was so upset about Ford going off to school. Much- much as Stanley himself had not realized how much his own brother longed for this chance to test himself in his field of strength.

They had looked to themselves and their own fears, not considering the other's. One of the disadvantages of being seventeen and not having quite as much experience with the world as you think you do.

In any case, a flurry of brainstorming and research had resulted in a last-minute application to the mechanical program at a school called Backups Tech, sister school to the maybe somewhat vaguely only not really more prestigious Backupsmore, on the grounds that if Lee could keep the Stanleymobile running like he did, he could probably pull this off, and people were always going to need their cars fixed.

Filbrick wasn't impressed with this. Then again, he never was, so that was nothing new. On the plus side, their mother was delighted to see her 'little free spirit' finding his path, so that was good.

Stanford's first semester at school had been… hard. On the one hand, West Coast Tech was indeed everything the brochures had promised and more – an exciting, stimulating world of knowledge, full of people actually capable of thinking at the same level as Ford. Exhilarating.

On the other hand, well… it was full of people actually capable of thinking at the same level as Ford. He'd never really encountered that before – Glass Shard Beach was a small town, and Ford had been the smartest person in it for a long time, soaring high above the rest. Suddenly having to share the skies was uncomfortable, especially when he had a sneaking suspicion that some of the other students might actually be smarter than him. Not only that, some of them were also gifted with the same easy social skills Stanley had always enjoyed, which was just blatantly unfair. And it turned out bullies existed everywhere, even in academia; as much as Lee's constant presence had grown cloying, he'd also always been there when Ford needed him. Stanley was the strong twin, after all.

It was hard being out in the world alone.

The classes were excellent, though, and Stanford got along well with his professors. Not to mention the discovery of and attempt to return an odd di with thirty-eight sides had somehow resulted in him getting sucked into a game of DD&MD that had 'needed a bard, man, come on!' The game had been fun, especially the story-telling aspect, to his surprise. He'd- he'd thought Stanley was the only one who had inherited their mother's gift for that sort of thing. It had also led to him making some friends on campus, something he hadn't really done before, certainly not without Stanley's help…

West Coast Tech was hard, and terrifying, and glorious, and many letters were sent to Backups Tech expanding upon this.

On the flip side had been Stanley, taking his first steps towards a future rather different than the one he'd been planning involving the Stan o' War (at least for now). His first semester at school had been… hard. On the one hand, Backups Tech had been full of his kind of people – creative thinkers and dreamers just beginning to realize that making those dreams come true might be a little harder than they thought. It was a fun, friendly environment where 'Bodging 101' was an actual course (one Stanley signed up for).

On the other hand… it was hard work, a lot of it. Stanley had never had to work this hard in school before. He'd always had Ford to lean on or turn to when the 'nerd stuff' got too confusing. And he couldn't afford to just coast along – one of the only things that had convinced Filbrick to let him come was the deal that, if Stanley couldn't keep his grades up, his butt was back home scraping taffy, an equally motivating and terrifying prospect, especially since this really wasn't Lee's world. Stanford was the smart twin, after all.

It was hard being out in the world alone.

The classes were pretty interesting, though. Unlike history or English, mechanics were something Stanley didn't actually mind reading about, and the subject made sense to him – cars didn't require you to know a million dates or turn out to be metaphors or anything obnoxious like that. Not to mention a bureaucratic mix-up had landed Stanley in the dorms of Backups _ **more**_ as opposed to Backups _**Tech**_ (which, to be fair, were identical buildings across the street from each other), rooming with a weird young scientist with an even weirder name - Fiddleford Hadron McGucket.

He also had an accent and a banjo. These did not inspire hope, and Stanley resigned himself to a year of bumping heads, nerd speak, and bad music.

Instead, he discovered that Fiddleford was, in a way, studying the same subject he way from the opposite direction – theoretical as opposed to practical. Not to mention that the Southerner had a proper appreciation for the finer things in life, like Mershey bars, cheap beer, and card tricks. And banjo music turned out not to be nearly as obnoxious as he'd been led to believe.

Backups Tech was hard, and terrifying, and glorious, and many letters were sent to West Coast Tech detailing this.

OoOoOoOoO

September 12

Dear Stan,

My professors have requested I expand upon the algorithms I used in my perpetual motion machine. There is discussion of my potentially giving a talk about it to them and some of my fellow students. Such events are not uncommon from what I have heard – I went to one the other day on more accurate methods for tracking comets, developed by a fellow student in her second year. It was a follow-up to a similar talk she gave last year. I wish I had been here to see it, her reasoning method, well… suffice to say, I shall have to take another look at my own processes.

That said… what are those tricks you use for speaking in front of enormous crowds again? I would be immensely grateful if you could…

OoOoOoOoO

Sept 21

Dear Stan,

Did you know most people think measuring stuff with your eyes is hard? Like, even if you _are_ wearing your glasses or have naturally good vision. I thought everyone could do that.

On an entirely unrelated note, have made a pact with my roommate Fiddlenerd, to the tune that I will wear my glasses when the loss of limbs or digits is possible, and he will not use the fact that he only needs about three hours of sleep a night for evil. Something about not wanting to risk the roommate selection pool twice. Oh, and, unlike you, he's actually still recognizable as a human after the sleep thing. You still interested in anomalies? You should come here. Fiddlenerd is an anomaly, come study him, I swear he ain't natural. He also keeps acting real surprised that I can follow his nerd speak half the time. I've told him it's because I grew up with _you_ , but he said it didn't work like that with his siblings. But they ain't twins, so it's different.

Anyhow, apparently physics is important for mechanics, so I have to know some stuff better. How did you remember all the terms again, like fulcrum and stuff? You had a rhyme, but I can't…

OoOoOoOoO

October 2

Dear Stan,

I got to be in the same room as a particle accelerator today, Stanley! A PARTICLE ACCELERATOR! Note the capital letters and exclamation points! I wasn't allowed to use it, of course – I haven't had the necessary training and won't receive it until second year at the least. But still, it reminds one of the heights still to be explored!

Also, I took a look that equation of your roommate's that you sent (and what _is_ his real name, Stanley, I refuse to believe that _any_ parents would actually name their child 'Fiddlenerd'). I'm afraid to admit that I can't actually make out what he's trying to proof without a little more knowledge as to what the variables stand for in this instance. I suspect- that is to say, I would _assume_ from the format that he's calculating the potential mph an engine can generate without setting itself aflame, but this conclusion can't be correct – the final number is a good ten miles faster than anything land-based I've ever heard of, so surely it can't- can it? I had thought you were exaggerating his mental prowess, however…

OoOoOoOoO

Oct 25

Dear Stan,

Okay, first, Fiddlesticks says 'hi.' Second, no more nerd game talk. No more. I don't _care_ what level your arithmancer is, I get enough math in class, I don't wanna hear more from you. I am happy you have found friends that are equally nerd-minded, and I will tolerate it when we are face-to-face, because you are my brother and I love you, but for the sake of Paul Bunyan, don't waste paper _more_ paper on it! Glad to hear it's helping with your talking-in-public thing, though.

Actually, I got news, too! Your never gonna guess who got an 'A' on his last test! That's right, me! I stuck it in the envelope, too, so there's physical proof, didn't even cheat or _nothing_! And I will put up with your comments about 'applying myself' and doing it sooner, because I'm too damn excited to care! I think it might have something to do with how they teach around here, all hands on and stuff, real different than they did back at Glass Shard High. Makes it easier for dummies like me to pick up on what they're getting at…

OoOoOoOoO

October 28

Dear Stan,

I knew you could do it.

OoOoOoOoO

Nov 1

Dear Stan,

That was below the belt.

…thanks, Sixer. Looking forward to seeing you again for winter break…

OoOoOoOoO

November 4

Dear Stan,

Looking forward to seeing you, too…

OoOoOoOoO

 _I like the ideas of the Stans both calling each other 'Stan,' because they find it amusing. Also, it's really fun to write those two in the letters – Stanley really does have a lot of 'personality,' and Ford is an excuse to pull out all the stops with my vocabulary. Also, I don't know how far apart their schools are, but I'm going with the basis that it takes about three days for their letters to get from one to the other._

 _I follow the belief that Stanley's actually pretty smart in his own right, considering everything he had to do and learn to fix and reactivate the portal. He's just not as smart as Ford, and he's always been 'the dumb twin' as a result. And he believes this label (and likes to take the easy route and coast or lean on Ford when he can). Put in a situation where he's interested in the material and has sufficient motivation, I think he could probably done well in school, especially one that approached education from an interactive standpoint (as I think that would suit Stan's personality more than the traditional book learning that works so well for Ford)._

 _Both twins would benefit from this time apart, and likely end up with a healthier relationship because of it._

 _I might do some more of this at some point._


	2. Chapter 2

_A couple quick notes: firstly, I'm going with the theory that Shermie is actually older than the twins. Second, Filbrick is a jerk, which you probably already knew, but he's also going to show up and be a jerk in this chapter. Not extensively, but, you know. It happens. Be warned._

Novermber 14, 1972

Dear Stan,

Lee, there is going to be a formal, a _dance_. Here! At WCT! I thought I'd left this nonsense behind with high school! I feel betrayed! Why would they do this to us?! I thought…

OoOoOoOoO

Nov 17, 1972

Dear Stan,

Okay, nerd, listen up. First, no one said you had to go, right? Second, if under all that flailing there was some hidden message of 'Lee, I actually want to go to this thing, how do I overcome my natural nerdery and do this' (I'll admit, I stopped reading after the first page – you're my brother, but I ain't reading six pages of that crap), then just do this: take off your sweater and vest, leave the top few buttons of your shirt undone, and buy a pair of those weird jeans that go big around the ankles- bell bottoms! That's right. Anyway, do that, comb your hair back, and you won't have to do anything else, the girls will come to you. Trust me, works like a charm (not that I have had to resort to anything other than normal jeans – I am actually good with women. And have the Stanleymobile. Which, let me tell you…

OoOoOoOoO

November 22, 1972

Dear Stan,

I turned in my third-to-last project before finals today, which, I must say, was a relief. College is grand, but a touch more free time would be nice. I still haven't had a chance to look through that book I got on genetic mutation a few weeks ago – most aggravating. And before you fuss, I have continued my weekly meetings with my DD&MD fellowship. I do listen when you and Ma talk about the importance of socialization, you know, and fellowship meetings definitely count, as they consist of interacting with my peer group for a non-academical activity. Just because you dislike math doesn't mean we all do.

As to your advice in the last letter… I'm going back to my sweaters, Stanley. People- _women_ were making eye contact with me! For non-academic matters! It was… unnerving. In any case, I have decided to leave the continuation of our family line in your and Shermie's capable hands, and shall myself retire to a life of science and…

OoOoOoOoO

Nov 25, 1972

Dear Stan,

You are _such_ a nerd.

OoOoOoOoO

December 4, 1972

Dear Stan,

I will likely be unable to write to you again before classes let out for winter break – finals are upon us, and now is the winter of our lack of sleep. All other activity has ground to a halt here on campus. School lore claims that several students' brains explode each year during this time (a most likely untrue statement but, to my frustration, one I literally have no time to ascertain the truth of)! In an case, I look forward to seeing you soon – it has been odd to only see your face in the mirror…

OoOoOoOoO

Dec 7, 1972

Dear Stan,

Yeah, I guess I won't really have time to write again after this neither. I- well, midterms went better than I thought, so I figure I might have a chance at getting a decent report card for once, and Fiddlenerd said he'll help me study some. I'm gonna take him up on it, Ford. I- The profs have been real swell, they say my work's _good_ , that I could do real- that I'm pretty sma-

I didn't think I'd ever care about my grades, Sixer, but now I kinda do. It's been kinda nice, feels good. And, you know, I was thinking, if I keep this up, Dad might be- well, you know, not a lot or anything, but just a little…

OoOoOoOoO

Filbrick Pines is a hard man. There are ancient oak trees deep in the heartwoods of the last great forests with more give in them. When he'd heard he was to have another son, he had selected the name 'Stan.' Two sons at once simply meant that now he had to sons named 'Stan.'

Filbrick Pines deals in absolutes, and once a decision is made, be it a business venture or an opinion, it is not rescinded.

Filbrick Pines has two sons. One is a freak and one is an idiot. The freak has turned out to be useful. The idiot never will be.

Filbrick Pines is a judgmental man. The world stands trial before his dark glasses.

And he is almost never impressed.

OoOoOoOoO

December 28, 1972

Dear Stan,

He shouldn't have said that. I know you won't receive this until your dormitory reopens on the 3rd, but I had to write now, because he should not have said that. You have done well for yourself in Backups Tech; studies show that most students' grades drop upon entering secondary education, such as college or technical school, but yours have improved! Didn't Fiddle mention that your grasp of mechanics is far beyond what your high school GPA indicates you should be capable of? (I would quote directly, but your letters are in my room at WCT, as I did not believe I would need to bring them.)

I… in all honesty, Lee, I hope this letter is for nothing. I hope we will have talked by the time you receive it. But awakening to find you, your things, and your car gone… I'm scared, Stanley. I- I even checked the Stan O' War, in case you were holed up there, like that time when we were thirteen. You weren't…

OoOoOoOoO

Jan 4, 1973

Dear Stan,

Just got your letter – dorms open the 3rd, but mail only came through today. I'd call, but, well, gotta make what I have last the rest of the year, until I can get a job or two over the summer, since I don't know if the old man's still going to stick to his deal after that. I've actually been at the dorms the whole time. Some students here at BT, they don't really have nowhere to go when classes ain't in. Everyone knows it. So it's kinda an open secret how to get into the dorms again once they're 'closed' – staff turns a blind eye to it as long as everyone's quiet and we don't make a mess. Quietest I've ever seen this place, actually.

Sorry for scaring you, Sixer. I shouldn't have let all that talk last semester get to my head – this is a reject school, we all know it, heck, they _admitted it_ on our first day here, so of course it's easier than high school. Don't worry, I'm sticking with it – if nothing else than so I can shove my certification in the old man's face when I get it. And then take his car apart. I'll be able to do that, you know – and put it together again better than it was! But I won't, because he's a jerk! …don't tell him I said that, okay?

He shouldn't have said that to you neither, Sixer.

Anyway, you'll be happy to know I got a head start on my reading for this semester while I was here, because there was nothing else to do. Also, on a more positive note, more proof for you that Fidds is an anomaly – he's said he'll help me look into a part-time job here on campus and working out how I'm going to pay for crap on my own. He got some other students in on it, too. And, get this – he claims he doesn't have an angle! At all! That 'having each others' back is just the Backups's way!' This is definitely anomaly-ous stuff, Ford, no one's this nice…

OoOoOoOoO

January 23, 1973

Dear Stan,

I know I just sent you a letter yesterday, but I had to write you. I- Sweet Moses, my hands are shaking, I can't believe I just did that. You remember Sly McWitworth? I've written to you about him and the… trouble he's given me. About my hands. I- he- He cornered me today. Tried to make me show him some of the theorems I've been working on so he could make use of them for his own dissertation – without crediting me, naturally. And I… Moses, Stanley, I think I broke his nose! I heard a crunch, I'm sure of it, I'm going to be in so much trouble, he's in his fourth year and from a prestigious family and I'm a freshman freak from nowhere-

I- I might be joining you at Backupsmore after this. We're not supposed to fight on campus, I may have ruined my future, it felt so satisfying to finally let him have it…

OoOoOoOoO

Jan 26, 1973

Dear Stan,

Okay, I didn't hear from Ma in the time it took your letter to get here, and you know how she is, so I'm assuming that means those West Coast guys weren't dumb enough to throw you out for finally standing up for yourself. That's good, because otherwise they'd be as dumb as you, and one genius as dumb as you is enough. And if the dumb twin can see that, Sixer, then you definitely should be able to!

In the event that you are still panicking, and haven't heard from them yet, though, we can probably sneak you in here. They're pretty lax about stuff, and Fiddlenerd would probably love to have someone to talk to who can understand everything he says, instead of 60% (yeah, the number's gone up – I'm spending too much time with you nerds…

OoOoOoOoO

February 12, 1973

Dear Stan,

All right, this is getting ridiculous – tell me your blasted roommate's proper name! It's been almost five and a half _months_ and I still don't-…

OoOoOoOoO

Feb 15, 1973

Dear Stan,

So I'm talking with my roommate, Fiddlenerd Fiddlesticks Fiddle-dee-dee the Fiddly-first, about his intro to robotics course, and…

OoOoOoOoO

February 26, 1973

Dear Stan,

Ma sends her love, as does Shermie. He came to visit yesterday and was adamant that you should be sending him the occasional letter as well, as such an action might make him amicable towards putting you up on his couch for the summer, provided you carry through on your plans to get a job. I advise you take him up on this, as then at least you will be in town and probably won't have to pay as much for rent. I hope your spring break is going well. You mentioned a young lady called Carla in you last letter – are things continuing to go well now that you've made it past the introductions and she has…

OoOoOoOoO

March 6, 1973

Dear Stan,

Writing this to you from the roof of the dorm. No I'm not joking yes I hate this stop asking about it I'm writing you to take my mind off of where I am I hate this-

Anyway, am… here sorta on accident. I was just coming back from class and headed for my room when this wall of people crashes into me in the stairwell. Next thing I know I'm at my least favorite place in the building, three floors away from my room, my cache of toffee peanuts, and my bed.

If this is Fiddlenerd's fault, he's gonna _pay_ , I've been in class since 8:30 this morning…

Okay, it's later, and I am in my room again. My room. Solo. Just mine, no one else's. Fiddlestein displeased the laws of science or something and, well, I stomped out most of the fires that were still smoldering when I got back in, and I've got the window open so most of the smell has blown out, allowing Backupsmore's natural odor to reclaim its rightful place.

I may have made a mistake in opening the window.

Anyway, no idea what that idiot was trying to make, but there's a gear shaft sticking out of my wall at a ninety degree angle. Fortunately, most of my stuff seems to be okay and I'm a generous guy, as you know, so I will be allowing him to come back in once he gets down from the front of the dorms where me and the guys have taped him as a warning to any other mad scientists trying to breed on campus. And you said that bodging class wouldn't be useful in real life…

OoOoOoOoO

March 18, 1973

Dear Stan,

Look, I'm just saying that I find it highly improbable that your roommate could have gotten a computer to do that. And if he did, what on earth is he doing at Backupsmore?! Also, I have given up on ever learning his true name. I hope you are satisfied. And I was sorry to hear your relationship with Carla ended on such a… rough note.

I really don't know what else to say in regards to this subject, my last date resulted in a shower of punch, and I have since concluded that women are one mystery I may never truly comprehend. At least you've made more progress in this subject than I.

You know, I can't believe courses will be over in just a bit more than a month. It feels as though I've only just arrived here, yet also as though an entire lifetime has passed…

OoOoOoOoO

 _You know, I had intended Stan to have a nice, peaceful stint in technical school, peppered with some fun antics. "It's a two-year degree," I thought, "It should be fine."_

 _Then he gets in a fight with Filbrick and storms out of the house of his own volition his first winter holiday home._

 _Stan, I am trying to make your life easier, quit making it hard for me! (Also, for anyone worrying about this, remember, this is set in the 1970s, back when it_ _ **was**_ _possible to put yourself through school if you worked hard). Which Stan is going to do. Mostly out of spite towards Filbrick, but, eh, as long as it works. And if Stan seems like he's being hard on himself in regards to his own intelligence, worth, well… he's been 'the dumb twin' pretty much all his life. Stuff like that takes awhile to break away from. At least he's got some outside sources of support this time._

 _There's going to be at least one more chapter of this, probably more, don't know how far in the timeline I'll get – I'm kinda writing this with a rictus grin on my face wondering why I thought writing about a mechanic, a scientist, and computer specialist/robotics genius/harried assistant was a good idea when I myself majored in English and have little to no knowledge of any of these things… Oh well, not the craziest thing I've done. Next chapter will be up when it's up._


	3. Chapter 3

Stanley returned to Glass Shard Beach that summer, but he didn't go home, and he made it clear that he had no intention of doing so. He also made it clear that he would be paying for his own education from now on.

The worst part was that Filbrick didn't fight his decisions. At all.

"So I end up spending the summer on Shermie's couch and workin' a couple jobs fer tuition," Stanley says, still smiling but with a tightness to his eyes, "Signed on at the local garage weekdays and worked this local tourist trap called the Hall o' Weird on weekends. Heh, they only hired me at that racket because of Sixer, you know."

"They hired you because they thought you _were_ me!" Stanford corrects him, annoyed "You went to my favorite attraction in town and traded on the fact that they all knew me there!"

"Hey, I told 'em at the end of the interview," Stanley winks at their small listeners, "And they hired me on the spot! Figured if I could convince them I was Ford, then I could convince anyone of anything! Which is a useful skill when yer tryin' to pass phony exhibits off as genuine freaks. Learned a lot of valuable lessons at that place."

"Yes, well, while _you_ swindled tourists, _I_ was furthering my studies!"

"Hey! Workin' on cars at the shop furthered _my_ studies just fine, Poindexter! And getting' used to weirdness other than you was useful later!"

"You didn't know it would be at the time," Stanford huffs, still obviously a little sulky about all this.

Stanley raises some very unimpressed eyebrows. "You were studying cryptoids at age eight. If that ain't a warning that one day you're gonna have to save your nerdy brother from manotaurs, I don't know what is."

"First, the term is 'cryptid' or 'anomaly,'" Stanford says, a weariness in his tone belying both how often he has probably said this and how likely he thinks it is that he will be listened to this time, though he grows more confident as he continues, "Second, that wasn't you with the manotaurs, it was McGucket who saved both our necks!"

"Okay, ya got me on the last point. Kids, never underestimate what that man can do with a banjo. Or how far or accurately he can spit," Stanley says firmly, leaning forward to ensure that this piece of advice is fully heeded.

Stanford rolls his eyes and returns to their original subject. "Yes, anyway, I used the summer to catch up on my cryptozoological research and do some supplementary coursework – school was wonderful, but I wanted to be in the field as soon as I could be."

"So… you didn't see each other at all that summer?" the one listener asks, glancing at his fellow listener and edging closer to her, "Even though you were in the same town?"

"What about the Stan O' War?" the other listener adds, evidently worried at the thought of a project as big and grand as the old sailboat being forgotten, "Didn't you ever go sailing off in it to explore the world?"

Stanley turns red at this for some reason but Stanford just laughs, "Good heavens, children, of _course_ we saw each other! Not as frequently as if we'd been beneath the same roof, of course, but we made time, and Ma still liked to check in on Lee from time to time."

"And we actually took the Stan O' War out on the open water one day," Stanley adds proudly before the embarrassed expression returns and he scratches the back of his neck, breaking eye contact, "Though, lookin' back, we probably should have checked how well she'd weathered the winter without us a bit more thoroughly first."

"Or worn life jackets," Stanford adds.

"But then, can you really say you've lived if ya don't almost die at least once before you're twenty?" Stanley finishes.

"To be clear, we almost died," Ford's face is worrisomely cheerful as he says this, "Denim becomes surprisingly heavy when wet."

"Think our jeans ever washed up?"

"I really don't know."

They both stare into the distance for a moment before shuddering in unison and returning to the present, where Stan picks up the story again. "Anyway, so, summer passes and eventually we both head back to school…"

OoOoOoOoO

Sept. 1, 1973

Dear Stan,

Back in the dorms again and _dang_ , you'd think summer never happened, the way they look! They're exactly the same, right down to Bob the Worrying Stain on the second floor landing. Got that same smell, too – part old building, part _really_ old building, a third hippie, and the rest is just like the wind blowing through town when the tide's low.

Yeah, all I can say is they're lucky Backups Tech is right across the road and willing to make fixing this place exchangeable for course credit, because the actual maintenance staff doesn't do _jack_. Oh, wait, sorry, Fiddlenerd was reading over my shoulder like another nosy too-smart person we both know (this guy is like Southern you sometimes, Ford, I swear). Anyway, he says Backupsmore doesn't actually have a maintenance staff, it's all on Backups Tech students to keep this place upright. Which kinda explains a lot. Could be worse, I guess – at least we're a mostly competent bunch.

And, speaking of Fiddlenerd and Backupsmore, in your face, Sixer! Told you I could talk them into letting me room at 'more with him again…

OoOoOoOoO

September 12, 1973

Dear Stan,

I know that by the time this letter reaches you that it will be far too late and you will have already carried out your plan, so I will say this instead: for the love of science, Lee, don't do it again! Fiddle sounds like a very decent fellow, and he does not deserve to tread the path that you will lead him on as his 'wingman,' to use your terminology! Yes, that dance ended up being enjoyable, and I am glad I went, but I could have done without the punch!

That said, how are your classes thus far? You mentioned potentially auditing one of your roommate's robotics courses – do you still plan to or is there time in your schedule? I've heard we have some rather good programs for it here, and would be willing to ask around and send Fiddle a reading list of the books they're using if he's interested…

OoOoOoOoO

Sept. 29, 1973

Dear Stan,

Yeah, the robo-cat didn't pan out – I'm beginning to think giving Fiddle-face that list was a bad idea. He disagrees and has asked me to include the 'schematics' (which is the nerdy word for 'blue prints' – see I'm learning!) for his new prototype in this letter. Which I have, on account of being a nice guy. And also because he beat me at poker. Again. Do not play poker with this man, Ford, he either has no tells or is changing them every round or _something_ , because he is too good for this to be luck.

Or maybe it's because he's an anomaly. I dunno. Anyway, he, and I quote, "humbly requests you or one of your colleagues look them over to verify his concepts." I'd be real appreciative if you did, too, he's a good guy.

The handyman job on campus is going swell, by the way, definitely helping to improve the quality of life and all that…

30 Sept. 1973

Dear Stan,

Sorry, sent the wrong set of blue prints yesterday – those were for the first robo-cat. Here are the proper ones. Fidds is very insistent you look at these ones and not the others. He 'wishes me to inform you' (he says all polite-like, like he _isn't_ holding the toaster hostage) that the first set was a 'hastily-devised construct' with lots of mistakes and please don't judge him for it. (Please, Sixer, be kind, he ain't slept in thirty-six hours, that's too much even for _him_ , and I'm scared for the toaster. It doesn't deserve to be mixed up in all this, Ford, it's _innocent_ ).

And, since I'm writing you anyway, might as well tell you some other news that's happened since yesterday – Carla's in town! We ran into each other at the Shopout, and she's looking good. Even agreed to talk to me again…

OoOoOoOoO

October 3, 1973

Dear Stan,

Stanley, what in the blazes is your roommate doing at Backupsmore?! The ball-socket design in the first blueprint _alone_ could have gotten him into any school he wished! This is practically Star Trip levels of technology, Stanley, STAR TRIP! You watched that show as much as I did, surely you…

OoOoOoOoO

Oct. 6, 1973

Dear Stan,

Fiddlenerd says he's happy here – robots are more of a hobby for him, what he really wants to work with are computers, and apparently we have a pretty decent program for them here (or, at least, one that doesn't expel you for 'corrupting the school's hard drive.' Twice). Pretty sure I've mentioned that. Anyway, you can't have my roommate, I saw him first. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's the only reason McCorkle's talking to me again – you know that Southern Gentleman stuff actually works? That and I somehow ended up fixing Thistle's van for him. Still not sure how I got talked into doing that, there wasn't even any music involved. Damn hippie didn't even have the decency to be a jerk about it – it's like he actually believes all that 'peace and love' stuff he talks about. They're moving on again tomorrow, but Carla said she'd call me sometime. I- It's weird, Ford, but I might be okay with that? The whole 'just being friends' thing. I mean, I'd prefer it if she was my girl again, but I've missed her a lot, and it's been real good seeing her again.

On second thought, you can have Fiddlenerd, being around him's obviously doing something to my head…

OoOoOoOoO

October 20, 1973

Dear Stan,

I realize- I still- I refuse to believe that the man who designed that robot is really willing to throw his potential away on such an obvious fad as personal computers. It makes no sense for someone with such intellectual prowess to waste his potential in a field that will go nowhere.

I can understand and appreciate his determination, though. Would you believe Vertis wood had the gall to call cryptozoology a pseudoscience – to my face, no less! Anomalies are more common than most people realize, and the fact that many of this field's practitioners are less properly scientific in their processes than they could be is no reason to brush off the field as a whole! It's still an emerging science, after all, and no field is perfect in its initial stages – just look at psychology and archaeology! Their founders would be considered guilty of gross malpractice in today's world, but the knowledge gained as they have developed has proven invaluable!

Also, my sightings board is not stupid, it is a method of planning ahead. Once I'm ready to step into the field, I shall be able to select a promising starting sight immediately, as opposed to…

OoOoOoOoO

Oct. 25, 1973

Dear Stan,

Successfully finished reassembling an engine from its base components today! Also got called in in my handyman capacity to look into the vents some – people have been complaining about the low tide portion of the smell more than usual lately, and someone says they swear they heard a splash in there, so I'm going to take a look at that tomorrow. Fiddlenerd's coming with me – he's a skinny beanpole of a guy, and will probably be able to fit in some of the places I can't. Not to mention he'll probably have a better idea of what's going on than me.

Seriously, Ford, don't tell anyone – this job is getting me free meals and a reduced rate on my room, I need them to think I'm more competent than I actually am. I mean, I've been able to figure most of the stuff they've thrown at me out so far, but I'm studying cars, not buildings! Will let you know if I find anything weird…

OoOoOoOoO

 _ **I'm marking this series as complete, but it isn't.**_ _I'm just marking it this way because, technically, it could end at any chapter – there's no real over-arching plot, it's more a fun, strung-together group of slice-of-life pieces._ _ **There will be more chapters of this.**_

 _The main thing I remember from 6_ _th_ _grade swim class is that, if you ever get thrown overboard and aren't going to be immediately rescued, lose your shoes and jeans, as both will fill with/soak up water and drag you under._

 _The way Fidds, Ford, and Stan relate to women/significant others in my head can be summarized thusly:_

 _Ford: fails hard and knows it_

 _Stan: Thinks he has skills but doesn't_

 _Fiddleford: Is actually competent_

 _One of the interesting challenges of writing this is keeping Stan's written voice and spoken voice separate. This is a little tricky at times, because, while certain speech patterns would leak into his writing, others wouldn't, such as the way his accent causes him to drop his 'g's at times or pronounce certain words a little differently than they're spelled. Conversely, he would likely use the word 'ain't' in a letter, since he uses it while speaking._

 _Also, seriously guys? Mystery Trio? I have no idea where you got that- WHO TOLD YOU?! ;)_


	4. Chapter 4

November 16, 1973

Dear Stan,

Have you figured out what you're doing for winter break this year? I assume you're not coming home after last year's fiasco, and I understand if that's the case. Will you be staying at school instead? From the stories you told it sounded a rather more enjoyable experience than I would have expected and, if you are, I might be able to come and visit for a day or two – Backups Tech isn't that far from the airport, after all, so I could easily beg off the last few days to "get a lead on the competition" and then come visit you instead. I am certain Ma would be willing to aid me in this endevour, and I would be most interested in finally setting foot on your place of study.

…I will also admit that I am somewhat loathe to go the holidays without seeing you at all. I realize the probability of such a thing happening grows higher and higher each year as we begin to make our separate ways in the world, but I would prefer this year not to be the first if it is at all avoidable.

And yes, I am starting to feel the pinch of my extended course load this term – a _little_. It's nothing I can't handle, though, simply a matter of some careful time management, a little extra elbow grease, and a carefully-regulated intake of caffeine. Though I did try and use the inversed laws of thermodynamics as a spell in my DD &MD session last night. Actually, that worked out rather well, and led to a rather entertaining abuse of the laws of science on the part of the whole fellowship…

OoOoOoOoO

Nov. 20, 1973

Dear Stan,

Actually, Fidds invited me to come down to his place during break – said his family's big enough that one more mouth won't even be noticeable, even if it's attached to a guy my size, and his folks are keen on meeting me (no idea why). I talked with him about the seeing you thing, though, and he said he's be okay leaving a few days early so we can all meet up on campus. He's interested in meeting you too, something about how it'd be nice to have someone to discuss quantum with. And, hey, it'll be your first chance to study an anomaly up close and personal…

OoOoOoOoO

November 23, 1973

Dear Stan,

That sounds both feasible and enjoyable – I shall look forward to seeing both your place of study and meeting your roommate, then! Though of course you _do_ realize that this means you'll need to tell me his real name, of course. Since we're to meet face to face…

OoOoOoOoO

Nov. 26, 1973

Dear Stan,

#$*&#!

Freaking nerd. Fine, it's…

OoOoOoOoO

November 29, 1973

Dear Stan,

That's not funny, Stanley. You honestly expect me to believe his _given name_ is something like 'Fiddleford Hadron McGucket'?! This is in poor taste, even for you, Lee! Especially the first name – I realize you consider him to be a 'Southern me,' but even so…

OoOoOoOoO

Dec. 1, 1973

Dear Stan,

Okay, fine, you got me. His name is Alexander Hirschel. Happy now? And here I thought you _liked_ mysteries…

OoOoOoOoO

29 December, 1973 – Backupsmore Dorms, the immediate outside

"Well hello there! I reckon yer Stanford? Pleasure to meet you at last, Stan's told me all about you!"

"Yes, he's said a fair bit about you as well, Alex."

"…Alex?"

"I- what? I'm sorry, Lee said your name was-?"

"Dagnabit, Stan!"

"What? I thought you'd like ta introduce yourself."

"Lord give me patience… Anyhow, my name's Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, though most call me 'Fidds'- say, are you feeling all right? You've gone kinda-"

" _ **STANLEY**_!"

OoOoOoOoO

"I swear, it was the funniest thing I've ever seen," Stanley laughs, slapping his knee, "Ford looked like he didn't know whether to explode or sink inta the pavement from embarrassment!"

"Yes, well," Stanford huffs, looking somewhat mortified even now, "After all those ridiculous nicknames you'd used, and then having a name like _that_ presented to me, how else was I supposed to react?! You called him 'Fiddler on the Roof' in one letter!"

Stanley snickers, still entirely unrepentant, then launches into the story of a three-day hunt through the inner workings of the Backupsmore dorms to discover the source of the low tide smell, which had plagued the dorms for years but had been bearable until the previous term. It had started as a wild goose chase, a way to show Ford some of the more interesting nooks and crannies of the old building. It had ended with the discovery of a small but determined nest of scaly little creatures living in the ventilation system.

To this day the twins are unsure of who screamed louder – the humans or the creatures. They had been gone by the time the three returned with a net and a camera, and the gradually-fading fishy smell indicated that the creatures, whatever they were, had abandoned the premises entirely. Ford was still over the moon at the discovery – it was his first real encounter with an actual cryptid, and it fanned the flames of his interest to a thundering roar.

It was also, technically, the first time the trio worked together as a team, though this didn't become significant until much later.

They stayed up late that last night, chattering excitedly over three different cultures of take-out, toffee peanuts, and victory music a la banjo. The next day they'd driven Stanford to the airport, and they all had bags under their eyes, but they were smiling. The Fords exchanged addresses and a promise to keep in touch, and then they'd all waited at the gate, watching the planes land until Stanford's flight was announced.

OoOoOoOoO

Jan. 7, 1974

Dear Stan,

It's real late, and I just saw you a few days ago, but it just hit me – in a few months, I'm gonna graduate. I'll be done with school _forever_! I'll be- Before y- On my own-

OoOoOoOoO

January 10, 1974

Dear Stan,

Well… don't get too comfortable with the idea of having the world all to yourself, Knucklehead – the extended course load is paying off, I'm already ahead of schedule. And then I'll be out there, too! Though I suppose it is amusing – in a way I'll be following you in academics for once, graduating second. (I am smiling right now, just so you know).

Do you have any ideas as to what you'll do once…

OoOoOoOoO

Jan. 13, 1974

Dear Stan,

I been talking to Fiddlenerd and some of the other mechanics about it some. Yeah, that's right, Sixer – your bro's making _plans_! I guess that's what an education does for you, huh? Anyway, funny thing about boats these days – most of them have engines. Pretty clever, right? I play my cards right, and they'll be _paying me_ to check out places for us to explore once you're out! I already got a list of things to check for whenever I'm in port, too – treasure, babes, weirdness. I think that covers everything we'd need to look for. Won't be the same as sailing of course, but, hey, practice is practice, right?

This ain't me leaving you behind neither, you got it? As far as I'm concerned, the Stan O' War is still on! You know, eventually. I figure learning a bit more about boats might be a good idea before we head out, considering how our 'maiden voyage' turned out last summer…

OoOoOoOoO

The school year goes by in a rush of work and letters, with Fiddleford joining in occasionally now, beginning to make friends with the other Pines twin without having to rely on Stanley to play middleman. This actually causes so tension at first – the two 'Fords are so similar in many ways and, well… what's Stanley got to compete with that?

As it turns out? He's got car engines. And poker. And late nights spent studying for tests, and getting take-out pizza they start eating on the way home, and singing badly to more than decent banjo music. Fiddleford is honestly a little surprised when Lee finally (and sulkily) admits to his jealousy.

"Why would I stop bein' friends with you on account of makin' friends with Ford? I talk with different things with each of you – y' might look similar, but, far as I can tell, yer pretty different individuals."

It's a simple statement, but it leaves Stanley shaken. Because he and Ford – they're a set. Always have been. Everyone who has ever known them, seen them together, knows that they're the Pines Twins, the dumb/smart one, the strong/weak one, the social/shy one, the normal/freakish one… the list goes on and on in its unending equation of 1+1 = 1, the same face, the same person, in two variations.

The way Fiddleford says it, though, the look in his eyes… he's not looking at one half of a set. He really sees an individual standing in front of him, someone defined entirely by what he is, and not at all by what his brother is. Maybe it's because he got to know Stanley alone, maybe it's because he knows Stanford mostly through letters, but the fact remains that, for maybe the first time ever in the lives of Lee and Ford, 1+1 = 2, and Stanley is acutely aware of it. Aware too, suddenly, that he and Ford don't really even look particularly identical any more, not to the extent they did as children. Their clothes, their hair, heck, even their voices, Lee's still thick with New Jersey, Ford's slowly growing more and more refined as he works to get himself taken seriously in the academic community.

It is not a profound moment, Stanley does not need to sit down, his eyes do not get leaky as his worldview shifts, and it's not even worth asking Fiddleford what happened that day because the hillbilly _lies_.

OoOoOoOoO

April 3, 1974

Dear Stan,

Finals season is the _worst_ , ugh, can't believe you and Fidds are willingly doing more than two years of this, you're both nerds and you're both crazy.

…okay, that's not the only reason I'm writing. I lost at poker to Fiddlenerd ( _again_ ) and, well… you know how we wager bets instead of money? Yeah. Fiddlejerk- argh, the goon's reading over my shoulder to make sure I write this, otherwise I would not be. I-

He made me play your dang nerd game.

DD&MD.

It was _kind of_ fun.

There, I played it, I wrote it, I'm never doing _either_ again, so you better hold onto this letter _forever_ , because I plan to deny…

OoOoOoOoO

April 6, 1974

Dear Stan,

Much as your last letter amused me, and as gratifying as I found it, I feel I must ask… you _do_ realize Fiddleford knows how to count cards, don't you? I would have assumed you had guessed by now, however…

OoOoOoOoO

April 9, 1974

Dear Stan

 _ **#$* &#%!**_ __ _ ***$#%^ &$)^%(!**_...

OoOoOoOoO

9 April 1974

Dear Stanford,

I am writing this from the tree outside our dormitory, as Stan is still unable to climb it without aid and he is currently seeking my blood. Ford, I had been under the impression that our acquaintanceship was one of mutual respect and enjoyment, is there a particular _reason_ you felt the need to enlighten- SWEET LAMBS OF MERCY HE HAS A LADDER-

OoOoOoOoO

April 10, 1974

Dear Stan,

Wanted to let you know that I have decided to spare my sneak of a roommate's life, it being finals and him apparently having so much to live for and all. He is surprisingly convincing when you're sitting on his chest with his arms pinned. Still shaved off his eyebrows…

OoOoOoOoO

April 20, 1974

Dear Stan,

I can't believe I just realized that I hadn't asked this yet – when is graduation day for Backups Tech?! I assume I'll be back in time to see it, but I wanted to be sure…

OoOoOoOoO

April 23, 1974

Dear Stan,

Don't worry, Poindexter, it ain't until the end of May – gotta let the profs grade everything and make sure we all passed first, you know. Oh, and don't forget to send any letters from here out to Shermie – I'll be done before you can respond to this one…

OoOoOoOoO

There are photos on the walls of the house – memories of triumph, humiliation, and discovery. Some contain images of creatures, items, and places that _must_ have been faked, to contain the oddities that they do. Some contain people, many a variation of the same three people in various groupings and situations.

One contains a young man holding a trophy, looking a little uncomfortable as another young man takes up most of the frame, as though the second one is scared he won't be seen otherwise. Next to it hangs a photo of the same pair a few years older, their positions reversed, the discomfort replaced with an impish glint about the eyes, the fear banished by laughter and a vain attempt to both prevent his mortar board from being stolen and to hold his diploma up as high and as proudly as possible.

OoOoOoOoO

"What a day that was," Stanley sits back in his chair, grinning like he still can't quite believe it was real, "Never thought I'd be so excited by a piece of paper that didn't have some important person's face on it before that!"

Stanford grins and punches his twin lightly in the arm, "Quit boring them with your 'nerd talk,' Knucklehead."

"Can it, Poindexter, I worked my ass…ets off for that thing, and I'm gonna gloat about it 'til the day I die!"

"I suppose I can't argue with that."

"Dang straight you can't, 'specially since it seems like you're tryin' ta paper yer office in them!"

"What happened next?" one listener interrupts, impatient, her eyes bright with excitement, "Did you drive across the country in search of treasure and true love?" she seems more interested in the latter than the former.

"Nah, I actually sold my car to Fiddlenerd, on the understanding that I'd buy her back eventually."

"You sold it? But…" the other listener's eyes turn to the window, where a well-loved and well-tended El Diablo is parked.

"Like I said, I eventually bought it back – what, you think I'd _abandon_ the Stanleymobile?" the old man looks affronted by the very thought, "Sellin' it to Fidds was the best thing I could do at the time, though. I mean," he leans forward conspiratorially, "It's not like I could take her with me on the boat…"

The two listeners lean forward as well, eager for this next part of the story...

OoOoOoOoO

 _Having your worldview shifted is uncomfortable, especially when the aspect that is shifting is a key piece of how you define yourself, and Stan's a pretty emotional guy when you get right down to it, something he tends to vary between embracing and trying to hide behind machismo._

 _And that's one nerd out of school and off to make his fortune! Just two more to go… Also, please take Ford's teasing Stan in the last bit with a grain of salt – it's been almost forty years at that point since Stan graduated, and giving each other a hard time now and then is part of being a sibling._


	5. Chapter 5

Boat life agrees with Stanley. The rest of the crew on the cargo ship is a mixed bag – some rough, some refined, some friendly, some solitary, a precious few that Stanley makes very sure he's never alone with and is always polite to if he can't avoid them. Not super obnoxious polite, just… respectful. Very, very respectful. Because he might not be in Fidds's or Sixer's league, but over the past two years he's come to the slow realization that he's actually smarter than he'd thought. Some of the guys appreciate this, so don't, but that doesn't change the fact that he is. Ford actually sent him a copy of his, Lee's, last report card from Backup's Tech, with its letter grades made of more angles than curves in the way that indicates success instead of failure. Ford had written 'so you don't forget' at the top of it with red pen in that fancy script of his. Stanley has it folded up safe in his bag, where the other guys won't find it by mistake; they probably wouldn't understand.

Stanley loves going up on deck to lean on the railing and look at the ocean – he'd missed the ocean whenever he was off at BT, a lot. And maybe Ford isn't with him, but it's not like he's _abandoned_ him, per se, more like he's… scouting ahead. Yeah, that's what he's doing, what he's always done, scouted ahead to check for danger, learn the lay of the land, keep his brother safe. It's different without Ford right there behind him, of course, holding the flashlight and making observations, but it's also a bit exciting, to be out here entirely on his own, no one to rely on but himself, because he's turning out to be a much more reliable guy than he'd expected himself to be.

He can't wait to get to Brazil.

OoOoOoOoO

June 6, 1974

Dear Stan,

It's our first night underway and man it feels weird. You can feel the engines pretty much everywhere on the ship. The guys say I'll get used to it. They're been real nice so far. Well, you know, not _real_ real nice, but better than some of the horror stories they told in the dorms. Ricardo said he'd help me pick up Spanish so I can actually talk to people once we get down to Mexico and South America. Thanks again for suggesting I get a passport back in winter – made shipping out a heck of a lot easier!

Anyway, I got that notebook you gave me tucked snug in with my stuff, so I can keep track of the places we go – don't worry, I remember the list: treasure, babes, weirdness! So, you know, when you're all fancy and people are giving you money to nerd about stuff in other countries, we'll know where to go first. And yes, I will be coming with you – you think you're leaving the country without me there to watch your gullible back? Think again!

…miss you already, Sixer. I know this ain't _exactly_ what we'd planned, but- it was supposed to be _us_ sailing off, not just me. We'll do it one day, I swear – you, me, the Stan O' War, and the open ocean…

OoOoOoOoO

June 10, 1974

Dear Fiddlenerd,

Hey Fidds. I'm not really sure what to say here. Dangit, it was easy to start this whole penpal thing with Ford! Whatever.

So, how's the latest doomsday device going? You run out of parts yet or did you manage to convince them to let you back into the scrapyard again? …look, I'm gonna just come out and say it, if you do anything to the Stanleymobile, just don't tell me, okay? If we could both just _pretend_ you didn't have that mad scientist gleam in your eyes two minutes after you got her home, that would be great…

OoOoOoOoO

June 20, 1974

Dear Stan,

I just received your letters. It's good to hear that you're adapting to ship life well, and that you're getting along well with the rest of the crew. I have also been doing well, though Glass Shard Beach seems more subdued for your absence. I visited the Hall O' Weirdness the other day, for old time's sake – the new guide isn't as good as you were, though I was amused to see that they have left your 'Flatypus' display up. It's still impressive to think you managed to turn a squashed model into a popular exhibit, though the illegitimacy of it as a true cryptid rankles somewhat. Then again, all the exhibits are false, so I suppose I can't complain at you adding another one.

…do you remember the first time we went there, Lee? We were eight, if I remember correctly, and that extraterrestrial exhibit they had scared us so badly we didn't sleep for a week! They've brought it back out again this summer – it's shabbier than I remember, and I can see the tricks they used to make the 'aliens' now. Most of the tour was excited by it, but I heard a few smart alecs in the back sniggering about how none of it was real, even the ones with actual basis in truth. One day I'm going to prove it's real, Stanley, all of it…

OoOoOoOoO

22 June 1974

Dear Stanley,

First of all, no need to ruffle your tail feathers, the old tin Stan is just fine; I haven't done anything to her other than change her oil – still purring like a dream. Gran McGucket and the rest of the family says 'hi,' by the way. Anyhow, how's the tattoo healing up? I recall you said it was looking more blue than black last time you checked. And, again, I cannot help but question the wisdom of getting some unknown symbol permanently melded to your shoulder. I don't care if you and Ford found it in some old book on Native cultures of the West Coast, I still feel choosing one of the untranslated glyphs was a rather untoward decision, especially given out adventure with the vents last Christmas season. Prior to that I wouldn't have worried, but, well, some things, once seen, cannot be unseen.

…you know, I never used to pay much heed to Pap's old stories and warnings. I deemed them unscientific and thus irrelevant to my life, but now I can't help but pause a spell and listen in when he's telling the kids, wondering how much of what he's saying is fact. Can't rightly help myself – Mama always has claimed me to be more curious than a coyote with a new scent. As such, I've been exchanging letters with Ford on the subject…

OoOoOoOoO

July 2, 1974

Dear Fiddlenerd,

The tattoo's doing fine, other than being blue instead of black, but the rest of the guys say it doesn't count as a real sailor's tattoo because you don't get those on purpose, you wake up the next morning with no idea how they got there and a hangover. So I guess I'll have to try again when we put into port – any idea what the legal age is in Brazil? Just so I know what to tell them at the bar. HA! Just joking – we're gonna be in port _way_ before your next letter shows up. I'll just tell them I got a young face. Don't tell Ford, okay? He gets prissy about stuff like 'legal age' and 'speed limits.'

I say 'hi' back to your whole extended family, okay? They're a real swell bunch, now I know where you get all that weird 'niceness' from at least. Tell them I ain't ever felt so welcomed before, I mean it. I still ain't taking your cousin Sadie up on her offer, though – gotta see the world before settling down! Uh, saw one of those nice weird Southern things to her to let her down easy and tell her I said it, okay? Something about how hoping she's doing well, but not like I'm coming on or nothing? That'd be great, I'd be 'real appreciative,' to use your phrase.

…bleh, I'm turning into _you_. And yes, I have my glasses with me, _mom_. Don't get why you're so fussed about me wearing-

…I just used 'fussed' in a sentence. On purpose. Paul Bunyan help me, I really _am_ turning into you! I'm gonna go swear at the wall for awhile before I finish this…

OoOoOoOoO

July 8, 1974

Dear Stan,

I can't _believe_ you went to a bar, Sixer. And you just barely twenty – for _shame_! Ah relax, I'm just teasing – ha, bet you're doing the flustered face right now! You are, aren't you? Heh. Seriously, good for you – it's about time you asked a girl to dance! And snuck out after curfew and other non-nerd stuff! What's life without a few risks, right?

I'm still the cool twin, though. That fact is immutable (see, I'm a fancy collage man with big words now, too, and I'm gonna show off while I still remember them)! Good to hear you and Fidds are still getting along, though why you'd wanna play your weird nerd game by letters… yeah, I don't know. Doesn't that slow everything down and ruin the excitement?

…I didn't just write that, it was a lie.

…so, been keeping my eyes peeled for weirdness. Haven't seen any yet, but the guys say not to worry, it's only a matter of time. I'm not sure if they're messing with me or not, but so far the only thing in the notebook is my tattoo turning out the wrong colour and some stories the rest of the crew's told me. I'm still keeping my eyes open, though!

Finally getting a feel for how everything works around here. Frank showed me a trick with the number two engine – I can't say more than that, though, on account of being sworn to secrecy on the matter…

OoOoOoOoO

Glass Shard Beach is different without his brother. Stanford has grown accustomed to being separated from his twin for long periods of time, and to not sharing a room (or house) with him when they're both here, but he hadn't realized the town itself would feel so different without him. It's a little- okay, it's a _lot_ lonely. He's never been the most social of creatures, but West Coast Tech has gotten him used to being around friends on a routine basis.

And it's the first time he really, consciously realizes that he's made friends outside of Stanley, all on his own. He's known some of them for two years now, but- he- he hadn't quite- Him. Ford. The recluse, the _freak_ , the one no one would remember if not for his hands… has made friends. Without help.

…he hadn't thought, hadn't _realized_ he could do that. Lee's always been the one with the social skills, with _personality_. Ford is the smart one. But then, Stanley has just spent the past two years proving that he can be smart, too. And if Lee can be smart… maybe Ford can be strong. Maybe he can have _personality_ , too.

Maybe he's always had it and hadn't known, just like Lee hadn't known about his intelligence.

Whatever the case, he's walking a little straighter since the realization. His hands are in his pockets still, but his shoulders are back and, for the first time in ages, he actually _feels_ as tall as Stanley.

Ford doesn't just stay in his room and visit his usual haunts this summer. He explores places in town he's never really been before, certainly not on his own, because they were too public, too crowded. He studies still, because the pursuit of knowledge will always be his first passion, and he writes to Lee and Fidds, and to his _friends_ from West Coast Tech, but he also visits the dance hall a few times because, well… dancing has always looked fun. And maybe he's not looking for a date, but surely there's a girl or two who also just wants to dance with someone for the evening…?

Then again there's also the fact that asking girls to dance is legitimately terrifying. Discussing classes or playing DD&MD is one thing – Peggy Sue's better with a time spell than anyone else in their entire fellowship – but dancing… that's different, especially since he doesn't really know most of the girls here in town. And it's a shame Lee's not here, because Lee's never been shy-

And that's when the idea hits him. Last summer Stanley had borrowed Stanford's name for a couple hours, just long enough. So this summer, Ford will borrow _his_ brother's name – just for a couple hours, just long enough…

The dance hall is slightly blurry without his glasses, and the t-shirt and bell bottoms he hasn't worn since last year feel weird, like he's not him anymore. Which, for the moment, is okay. If he's not him, he's someone else, he's Lee, and Lee never has to worry about being shy or having weird hands, because Lee's hands are normal, and-

-and, somehow, this tangle of half-logic works. Because Ford gets his dance, gets several dances in fact, and his partner has to teach him the steps but it's still fun. He's not sure if she notices his hands or not, but if she does she doesn't say anything.

And the next time he goes dancing, it's as himself. And it's still fun. Everything's a bit more fun after that, and it's a heady feeling. The boundaries he's pushed in the past have been ones of science and knowledge, but now he's pushing his own. He sneaks out after curfew a couple nights; he's watched Lee do it enough times that it's just a matter of accounting for his lesser strength. Generally he goes down to Glass Shard Beach when he does this – he's always loved the beach, and there's an added thrill that comes with knowing he shouldn't be here that adds to the beauty of the nighttime ocean. Ma catches him once when he comes creeping back in, shoes in his hands and a guilty expression on his face in the beam of the flashlight. "Uh, Ma, I assure you, there is a perfectly logical-"

The flashlight beam moves off his face and he grinds to a halt as Ma walks over to him, and he can't see her face, because he's now officially blind thanks to that flashlight, but he feels her smile when she pulls his face down so she can kiss his forehead.

As well as his riskier ventures (like slipping into Duffy's Tavern for a drink (it was only an orange pop, but he doesn't mention that bit in his letter to Lee)), there's also slightly more mundane explorations, such as the corner store. He hasn't been there in, well, ages, now that he thinks of it, mostly because that had always been where the other kids and teenagers hung out and he'd always avoided them. In fact, upon reflection, he realizes that he's never actually been here without Lee, and somehow that makes this even more nerve-wracking than any of his more adventurous escapades this summer. Some of the straightness leaves his shoulders as he gets closer, but he keeps walking. He's heard the Unexpected X-Guys are getting a new run, and he's always had a bit of a weakness for comics, especially the X-Guys.

And he ends up being glad he went, because not only is the new run a real thing, there's new characters, not just from America this time but all over the world and he can't help taking a quick look in the store-

At least, he can't until he feels the eyes. He doesn't know if it's an example of trained ESP or something else, but Ford can almost _always_ tell when someone's looking at his hands. And when he glances up, sure enough, there's some kid staring at his hands, then the comic, then at his hands, eyes getting wider and wider, and Ford's still not sure if he should be defending himself or his reading choices or what when the kid's eyes rise up to meet his own and, in a tone of absolute awe…

"You mean it's _real_?"

And that's when Ford sees a copy of the same Unexpected X-Guys comic _he's_ reading clutched tightly in the kid's hands.

For a moment, Ford is frozen, without a clue of what to do, how to respond to… this. Then something clicks in his head, whether it's from growing up with Lee and Ma or late nights of DD&MD he doesn't know, it doesn't matter. What matters is that he can move again, and he offers the kid a slight grin and winks, then holds a conspiratorial finger to his lips. "Shh, it's a secret, okay?"

The kid nods, eyes huge, and mimes the lip-zipping motion. Stanford grins a little wider, then goes to pay for his comic. The kid watches him go, silent as a clam, that awed look still firmly in place.

(Stanford never really stops following the X-Guys after that, at least casually looking in every now and then as their adventures continue and their ranks swell. In fourteen years there will be so many that he almost misses the addition of another new one, an average-looking guy code-named 'Sleuth,' whose job is to gather information for the team from 'normal' people. He's a character that will become known for being slipped into background and crowd shots, often reading a newspaper or a comic, easy to miss unless you're really looking for the only tell that he's a mutoid – the extra finger he has on each hand.

(And Ford never finds out one way or the other, but sometimes he wonders and always he remembers).

OoOoOoOoO

 _A lot of this fic up to this point has focused on Stan and working through some of his issues, but I felt it was time to give some attention to Ford as well, because he's got problems of his own that needed help, and areas of his personality he needed the opportunity to explore. I wanted to give him a chance to test his comfort zones and redefine himself a little, investigate areas of potential he didn't know he had. I see a bit of myself in Ford for this section, as it came to a major shock to my introverted self to discover I had social skills and that interacting with other people didn't have to be an ordeal, even if I don't do it much._

 _In regards to Ford going dancing, feel free to interpret this however you like, whether it's his first step to trying to eventually find romance or a desire to platonically partake in a fun social activity._

 _Also I don't know about anyone else, but if I had been a kid and seen a person with polydactyl hands reading an X-Men comic, I would have taken it as heaven-sent proof that those comics were based on fact. In our world the new X-Men series began in '75, not '74, but I'm taking liberties._

 _This is going to be the final part for awhile. I have more ideas, so hopefully I'll write them at some point, but it won't be for awhile if I do._


End file.
